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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617886">Her Angel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelyon/pseuds/Kelyon'>Kelyon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), F/M, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:35:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,475</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelyon/pseuds/Kelyon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lady Belle runs away from her wedding, she is helped by a poor spinner and his son</p><p> </p><p>Originally written for the 2020 Rumbelle Showdown under the pen name Ercnal</p><p>Nominated for the 2021 TEAs in the category of Best First Meeting</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>For the prompt "The face of an angel."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lady Belle of House French stood in the entrance to the chapel on her family’s country estate. Inside, everyone she had ever known was sitting in the pews, waiting for her to appear. They were waiting to watch her walk down the aisle of the chapel and join Duke Gaston de Trousdale at the altar, and then shortly after join him in marriage. Belle wore a golden gown and had a heart full of dread. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lord Maurice waited for her by the door. As Belle’s father, it was his duty to escort her down the aisle and put her hand in Gaston’s hand. That act would make the marriage binding in the eyes of the law and the gods. When he--as Belle’s protector--allowed Gaston to take her hand, he was declaring to all the world that Gaston was her husband and her new protector. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brow furrowed as he saw her in the doorway, silently refusing to take a step. She looked the way he felt--unwilling, but resigned, and furious at the resignation. He went to her side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you feel, bluebell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The use of her childhood nickname brought tears to her eyes. “Papa, do you really think Gaston is the right man for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maurice glanced up the aisle at the bored-looking young man who waited to take away everything he loved. “I think his gold will keep us from having to sell the house and dismiss the servants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With tight lips, Belle nodded and took her father’s arm. “I’m doing this for you, you know. For you and for them. For our people. I don’t--I don’t want this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clutched his daughter’s hand. It was small and delicate, lillywhite and soft. Belle had never known a days’ labor, but she was practical and selfless. When she was born, her whole fist had barely wrapped around his finger. He tried to imagine placing her in the rough and grasping hands of Gaston de Trousdale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Belle,” he whispered as they took one step into the chapel. “You have always been a dutiful and obedient daughter. You have always thought about other people above yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Papa.” She tried to keep the tears from her voice. The highest praises given to a young lady were those that most completely trapped her in her fate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if you want to be selfish, just this once, I won’t stop you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were four steps into the chapel, and Belle had to fight the instinct to stop dead on her feet. “Papa, what are you saying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t insult Duke Gaston by refusing his suit. But if you decide you cannot marry him, I will not force the matter.” He slowed his steps, lengthening the distance between them and the altar. “If you run away from this, I won’t let anyone chase you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle felt her heart fluttering in her breast, like a bird flapping its wings against the bars of its cage. But there was a hole in the cage now. A door had been opened and Belle could let her heart fly free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about the money, Papa? What about our debts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our debts are not so great that they are worth selling you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We will find a way to survive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were still walking, the altar looming as they got closer. Gaston stood by it, wearing an expression that was both arrogant and frustrated, as though he was annoyed that the whole stupid business wasn’t over with already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s your choice, my dear. It should have been your choice all along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a final squeeze, Maurice loosened his grip on his daughter’s hand, letting her go for the first time in her life. Gently, Belle pulled away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Papa,” she whispered as they separated. They both stopped in the middle of the aisle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Belle,” he said, too softly for the attended guests to hear. “Good-bye, my girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes shining, heart racing, Belle gathered her skirts and ran out the chapel doors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one chased her. If her father didn’t give the order, the men of her house would stay as they were. Gaston’s men had been ready for a party, and were probably already drunk by the time of the early afternoon wedding. Gaston would waste time shouting and arguing and saying stupid things like “What is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>meaning</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this?” before it would occur to him to saddle his horse and ride after her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle could imagine the confusion and chaos in the chapel, and she was almost sorry that she couldn’t see it. There would be a terrible uproar about the scandal. At least one of her aunts would faint. Belle was still mischievous enough to find that amusing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she couldn’t stay to see the downfall of her wedding. The confusion had bought her some time, and she needed to take advantage of it. It wouldn’t be long before they all came to their senses and began to search for her. She had to be far away by then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, Belle was in familiar territory. The country estate was surrounded by forests, woods she had explored and mapped every day of her childhood. Running like a deer even in her wedding dress, she took narrow paths through the trees that men on horseback would never be able to follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her slippers had fallen off even before she’d crossed the manicured lawn. Roots and rocks jabbed at her bare feet, but she paid them no mind as she ran for her freedom. As she wound through the trees, her dress caught on branches and got stuck in brambles. She pulled the fabric away with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>rip</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and her only sorrow was for the wasted expense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she found the river that marked the border between the estate grounds and the common wood, she waded in. She was almost at the village. There, she could ask for help. She could stay a night or two with some farming family and wait for Gaston’s anger to blow over, wait for that horrible man to give up and leave her land forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The current was stronger than it had seemed, the water faster and colder than she could have ever imagined. The river was shallow here, only up to her knees, but the force of it made for slow going. On her bare feet, the rocks were sharp and hard. She couldn’t find a footing. Everything was wet and slippery and--Oh!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle’s feet flew out from under her and her body splashed into the river. Rocks hit her back and her head and when she cried out in pain she swallowed a mouthful of water. Coughing, gasping for breath, Belle tried to stand, but the current knocked her over again, face-first this time. The water was so fast and so cold and her dress was so heavy. She hadn’t swum since she was child, and there was no fighting against the current. The best she could do was keep her face above the surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she hit her head again, and everything went black.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Papa!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the dark behind Belle’s closed eyes, a high voice called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Papa, there’s a lady! Come help!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All Belle knew was wet and cold and pain. The ground beneath her was hard and slippery. Her fingers dug into clay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The riverbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was out. She was on land. Coughing, her eyes still closed, Belle took a shallow, shaking breath. It was so hard to breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m coming, Bae!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another voice had entered her hearing. A man’s voice, deep and rough. Oddly, it reminded her of a mountain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods!” the man’s voice swore. “Are you all right, miss? Can you hear me? Stay up here, son. I’ll see if I can wake her up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle was awake, but she couldn’t open her eyes. She tried to move her head, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods, miss, you’re bleeding! Can you hear me? I’m going to touch you. I--I have to get you out of this dress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My wedding gown</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Belle wanted to say. But she couldn’t speak just now. She focused all her energy on breathing. And staying out of the water. And trying to open her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re all right, miss,” the man said. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt her body being flipped over, felt warm arms around her shoulders, making her sit up. She felt a hard line press against her breastbone and heard something </span>
  <em>
    <span>rip</span>
  </em>
  <span> along her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she could breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle jerked into action, coughing and spitting up water. The man still held her, murmured soothingly that she was alright, she was safe now. When her breathing returned to normal, she was finally able to open her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunlight streamed down through the forest canopy, beams that lent a soft halo to everything they touched. The man who held her smiled softly, and when Belle looked at her rescuer, she saw the face of an angel.         </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>For the prompt, "Darkness, night, 'I will protect you.'"</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Weak and coughing, her head throbbing in pain, Lady Belle of House French staggered to her feet. The riverbed was slippery, and she trembled from the cold. She was barely aware of the man who had helped her, the angel who had saved her from the brink of death. She couldn’t concentrate on the details of his face, couldn’t make out how he was dressed or what he carried with him. All she knew was the warmth of his arm around her, and the solidness of his body as she leaned on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re all right, miss,” he said softly. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Belle’s feet slipped on the clay and she clutched at the man. He caught her, but winced and grunted with the effort. It was only then that Belle saw the stick in her rescuer’s hand. He planted the staff in the ground and used it to bear the weight of his body and hers. Looking down, Belle saw that one of his feet was unnaturally twisted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gaped at him. This man could barely walk, and he had plunged down into an embankment to rescue her. He tried to support her, when he couldn’t support himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry!” Belle pulled away to let the man right himself. She had two perfectly good feet. It was wrong for her to rely on a man with only one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nothing,” he said, even as his voice rasped in pain. “Please, let me help you up the riverbank.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held out his hand and Belle looked at it for a moment. The joining of hands was a sacred gesture. Her wedding to Duke Gaston would have begun with her father taking Belle’s hand out of his own grasp and placing it into her husband’s. But now her father had let her go, and she could choose whose hands she could put herself into. The man with the staff was a stranger to her. She knew nothing about him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except that he had saved her life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, aware that something was happening even if she didn’t know what, Belle reached out and took the man’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded and gave her an encouraging smile. “We’re coming up now, Bae,” he called. “We might need you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The face of a young boy appeared on the ledge. “I’m here, Papa!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good boy!” The man’s face lit up when he spoke to his son, and the smile lingered when he turned to Belle. “Eleven years old and he’s stronger than I ever was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was so much warmth in his voice, so much joy. Belle couldn’t say why it made her heart ache. “I thank you both.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They climbed up the embankment, gripping roots and rocks for support. When they reached the top, the man held out his staff for the boy. He grabbed it and hoisted them up to solid ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winded from the climb and her time in the river, Belle put her hands on her knees and panted. Her chemise and petticoats were soaking wet. Her golden wedding gown was still at the bottom of the ravine. Without looking at herself, she knew that she was caked in mud. She could feel a trickle of blood running down from the cut on her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she looked up, the boy--Bae--was staring at her with wide, dark eyes. “You’re pretty,” he said.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Belle let out a breathy chuckle. “And you’re smart,” she said. “You saw me down there and you called for help. You saved my life.” She looked at the man. “Both of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man turned his head away. Was he blushing? “It was nothing ,” he demurred. “You were already out of the water. Anybody would have helped you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took his hand again. “And you did.” After she’d placed her hand in his once, it was easy to do it again. His hands were larger than his height would indicate, and his palms were smooth and soft. Her hand felt like it belonged in his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blushed an even deeper red. “Here.” He pulled his hand away and busied himself with untying the fastenings of his cloak. He took it off and wrapped it around Belle’s shoulders. “You must be freezing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was damp and shaking with cold, and the cloak was still warm from his body. It smelled like wool and smoke and sweat. Belle stopped shivering as soon as she had it on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should come to our house for dinner,” the boy piped up. “I caught a rabbit yesterday and Papa made a stew. It’ll be ready when we get back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are welcome to come,” the man said. He leaned on his staff as he walked over to his son. “You can stay the night if you need to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She can have my bed and I can sleep in the hayloft!” The boy seemed to think this would be a fine adventure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Belle gave both of them a gracious smile. “I would be glad to stay with you,” she said. “But I can’t claim the hospitality of people whose names I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Baelfire,” the boy spoke at once. “And Papa’s name is Rumpelstiltskin.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Baelfire and Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle repeated. How far had the river taken her that people had such names? “And I’m Belle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t say Lady Belle. She didn’t mention her family or her father or the name of her house. She didn’t hint of the wedding she had just run away from or the powerful man she had just defied. Perhaps she should have told them, but she knew that mentioning her class would throw up an instant division between her and her rescuers and she couldn’t bear that. She didn’t feel much like a lady right now anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They took her to a hovel on the outskirts of a small village. A few sheep grazed in a fenced-in yard, and there was a vegetable garden on the other side of the house. Once inside, Belle saw that the whole building was made of mud and straw. The only color in the place came from skeins of dyed wool that hung up from the rafters. A wooden spinning wheel sat in between the door and the fireplace, so it would get the best light in day or night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Belle went over to examine the yarn. “Your wife is a fine spinster,” she remarked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m the spinner,” Rumpelstiltskin said quietly. “And I… don’t have a wife anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she could apologize for the misunderstanding, Rumpelstiltskin had placed a wooden bowl in her hands and gestured for her to sit at a long table. The smell of carrots and onions and meat wafted up to her nose and Belle couldn’t think of anything but the sudden ache in her belly. She gobbled up the watery stew and scraped her spoon across the bottom of the bowl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there more?” she asked. She had never been so hungry in her life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rumpelstiltskin had ladled out a portion for Bae and was in the process of emptying what was left of the stewpot into a bowl for himself. Belle saw him look down at his empty bowl for just a moment before he said, “Of course.” He poured the last ladle into the bowl he had given Belle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no,” Belle said at once. “No, of course, you would have only made enough for yourselves. I’m sorry. I can’t take seconds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I can’t let you go hungry.” Gently, but in a way that allowed for no argument, Rumpelstiltskin pushed the bowl of soup back into Belle’s hands. “After all, you’ve had a trying day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Belle chuckled and ate slowly, savoring the second bowl more than she had the first. “That is true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you end up in the river?” Baelfire asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I fell,” Belle answered. “I was… running away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Running away from what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bae, if you’re done with your supper, would you go get some water from the well? I think our guest would like some tea.” Rumpelstiltskin distracted the boy before he could ask any more questions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Obedient and cheerful, Baelfire hopped to his feet and went outside with a bucket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Belle looked down at her half-empty bowl of soup. “I don’t blame him for being curious about me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but he needs to learn not to talk so much, especially about personal matters.” The firelight caught Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes, filled the brown depths with a soft, golden glow. “I know that people who run away from things don’t like to talk about what they were running from. But you’re safe here, Belle. I will protect you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had the strangest desire to hold his hand again, but all she did was pass over the rest of her soup. He had been so generous, she couldn’t let him go hungry. “Thank you,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rumpelstiltskin nodded but said nothing more as he took her bowl and ate.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span> Baelfire had run off into the barn as soon as the three of them had finished their tea. He was very excited to sleep in the hayloft with the company of his dog and the sheep. Belle was to sleep in Baelfire’s pallet on the floor. It was a bundle of straw in a canvas ticking that had to be rolled out in front of the fireplace. Rumpelstiltskin gave her two wool blankets and the pillow from his bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Such meager comforts should have led to a restless night to someone accustomed to sleeping on down mattresses in her own bedroom, but Belle was too exhausted to mind. Before she slept, she spared one moment to smile at the fact that this was supposed to be her wedding night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was happier on the dirt floor of a peasant’s cottage than she would have ever been in the bed of Duke Gaston de Trousdale.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The fire had burned down to embers when the sound of hoofbeats on the road woke her. Belle sat bolt upright in the darkness, the pounding of her heart louder than the rough voices of the men outside. They were coming for her! They would take her away and </span>
  <em>
    <span>force</span>
  </em>
  <span> her to marry Gaston. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frozen in fear, Belle didn’t realize at first that the ragged breathing she heard was not only her own. She was not alone in the darkness. She was not alone in her terror. She heard the limping footsteps of Rumpelstiltskin coming close to her. He knelt down on the floor beside her and took her hand into his. She remembered his words at dinner: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I will protect you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They waited in silence together, suspended in dread of all the fears that could be outside. Fears that came to terrible life when a fist slammed into the door three times and a commanding voice shouted:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Open in the name of the Duke!”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I didn't make it to the next round, but I do intend to write more for this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>For the prompt "Comfort, otherworldly delights, can't make tea"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The last chapter didn't make it through that round of the Showdown, so readers were left on a cliffhanger for six months. In the interest of good sportsmanship after the fact, I have given this chapter the same word limit as was set up for the Showdown.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Open in the name of the Duke!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Belle of House French and Rumpelstiltskin, the spinner who had saved her life, sat in the darkness of his hovel. For a brief eternity, both of them stayed frozen in fear, their hands clutched together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re here for me,” Belle whispered. “Gaston is going to take me away and force me to marry him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another knock thundered at the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I have to open it.” Rumpelstiltskin didn’t let go of her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she breathed. “Go ahead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking fast, Belle broke from Rumple and turned to the hearth. She’d slept the first part of the night on the packed dirt in front of the fireplace. Her golden wedding dress was lost in the river. The shift she wore was muddy and wrinkled. But she still wasn’t dirty enough!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stirred the embers into a blaze, as she had seen the servants do back home. Then, as Rumpelstiltskin hobbled over to the door, she took a handful of cold ash and rubbed it over her face and neck. She grabbed the blanket off of Rumpelstiltskin’s bed and threw it over her head and shoulders. Maybe it would look like a peasant woman’s shawl. It covered her clean hair and hid the shape of her young body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe this would work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he opened the door, Rumpelstiltskin looked over his shoulder at her. They had known each other for less than a day, but already they understood what the other meant without saying a word. He was asking, Was she ready?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded and he opened the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two men stood in the doorway. At least, one was a man--a big, burly fellow in a sergeant’s uniform. The other figure was hidden in a darkness inkier than the night, face obscured by a rich cloak. The figure was roughly the same size as the sergeant in height and breadth of shoulder. But there was an air of power about this person. Something great and terrible was wrapped around him just as much as his cloak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“G-good evening, milords,” Rumpelstiltskin stammered. “W-what can we do for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sergeant pushed past him to enter the hut. The figure in the cloak followed, gliding smoothly over the ground like an eel through water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The sergeant spoke. “By order of His Grace, Duke Gaston de Trousdale, every house must be searched for a runaway girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve no girls ‘ere, dearie,” Belle garbled her voice and took on the accent of a peasant. It sounded terrible, but she pressed on. “Just a fine little boy. He’s asleep in the ‘ayloft and I’ll thank you not to wake ‘im with your noisy ‘orses!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were no lies in what she had said. Rumpelstiltskin’s son Bae </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the hayloft and Belle </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> hope that he stayed asleep. And she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a girl. She was a woman who could decide her own fate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The figure in the cloak said nothing, but silently turned his attention to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sergeant looked around the little hut. There wasn’t much to see. Certainly no place where this poor spinner might be hiding a future duchess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two are married, are you?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle drew herself up to her full height and began to bluster. She had seen this sort of thing in a play once. “Whot kind of question is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>dearie? Whot kind of people do you think we are?” She marched over to the shocked Rumpelstiltskin and grabbed his hand. “I’ll ‘ave you know I owe this man my very </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span>! I would never disgrace him by ‘aving </span>
  <em>
    <span>loose ways</span>
  </em>
  <span>! ‘Ow </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, sir! I never in all my days!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sergeant took her ranting in stride and kept looking. When he came upon the pallet in front of the hearthfire he kicked it. “So if you two are married, and your son is in the hayloft... who’s sleeping here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle opened her mouth and then shut it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were,” Rumpelstitlskin came to her rescue. His hand around hers was warm and soft. “I mean, we weren’t sleeping. But… certain things… are better on a firm surface. I’m crippled, you see, and that is… more of a comfort on my back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sergeant began to laugh. “Is that why it took you so long to open the door?” His sniggers became guffaws. “Did we interrupt a moment of ‘marital bliss’?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rumpelstiltskin looked at the ground and didn’t say anything. Belle felt him trembling beside her, about to cry. The sergeant chuckled at the idea that a man like Rumple and a woman like her could ever be married, could ever desire each other. How many other people had laughed at the angel who had saved her? How many other people thought it </span>
  <em>
    <span>ludicrous</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Rumple could be loved?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle’s pretend bluster exploded into genuine rage. “Whot’s so funny about it?” she screeched. “This is a good man you’re laughing at! He’s a loving father and generous to strangers! If I ‘ave a chance to give ‘im otherworldly delights, why shouldn’t I take it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The color rose in Rumpelstiltskin’s cheeks, but his smile was lovely in its gratitude. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sergeant was polite enough to hide the rest of his laughter behind his hand. “All right,” he conceded. “They do say there’s someone for everyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, the cloaked figure spoke. His voice was deep, with strange rumbling echoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well, goodwife. You have proven that this is indeed your hearth and home. Come, Hordor, we best continue our search elsewhere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, the figure floated instead of walking to the door. The unnatural smoothness of his movements was unnerving. But at least he was leaving and taking the sergeant with him. For just a moment, Belle felt her heart lift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the dark figure turned around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before we go, may we have some tea? Our journey has been long, and we must fortify ourselves. And did I not hear that you are generous to strangers?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-of course,” Rumpelstiltskin began to hobble for the fireplace. “Allow me to--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it the custom in this land that the man of the house tends to domestic duties?” It was a polite question, but the dark figure intoned his words like a final judgement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle and Rumple exchanged a look. They both knew that she had never made tea for herself in her life. She had watched him make tea after dinner, but how could she make it look like this was her home? That she was making tea for her own husband as a wife might do every night?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would have to try. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-Is there water in the kettle, love?” she began as she walked back to the hearth. The fire was going nicely now, and the heavy black tea kettle hung from an iron bar on a hinge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Rumple said. “The boy filled it before he went to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” she said with a false smile. That at least would spare her having to go out in the dark and find the well to get the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he put the tea leaves in the wooden box on the shelf beside the fireplace, just like we told him too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that hint, Belle found the tea leaves easily. “He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>such</span>
  </em>
  <span> a good boy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sergeant and the cloaked figure sat at the long farm table and watched her work. The hut was so quiet she could hear Rumpelstiltskin gulp before he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re looking for a girl?” he said. “Who is she? What did she do to offend His Grace?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Belle of House French,” the sergeant answered. “She ran away from their wedding--at the very chapel door. Our lord don’t take kindly to being…” he searched for words, “dismissed, rejected, publicly humiliated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to marry him--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The maiden broke a contract.” The dark figure cut off Rumple with tones of doom. “She made a promise to my master and she must fulfill her end of the bargain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle’s heart raced. Teacups. Where were the teacups? There were three mugs on a low shelf. Were those the same vessels they had taken tea from after dinner? Was that all Rumple had? Would that be good enough to give to company? The water inside the kettle bubbled noisily. The tea would be ready soon, but where were the cups to serve it in?    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they would probably want sugar too, wouldn’t they? And cream. Where did Rumpelstiltskin keep cream? She had heard of peasants putting jugs in streams near their houses to keep things cold. Did he do that? Where was the stream? Where was the sugar? The rest of her life hung in the balance of how well she could make tea!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need help, darling?” Rumple called over to her. “I know ever since we moved things you’ve had trouble remembering where they should go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moved things?” the sergeant spoke before Belle could. “What things do you have that would be moved?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the treacle, for instance,” Rumple said. “We had kept it near the oat bin, but now it’s on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>third</span>
  </em>
  <span> shelf.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were quite a few things on the third shelf. What in the name of all the gods was treacle? It had to be important, or Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t have mentioned it. But what was it? Belle ruled out the herbs and dried fruits she recognized. There was a small earthenware crock that seemed to be full of some kind of sticky brown syrup. And there was a little bowl that contained a mound of fine white crystals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that was the sugar at least! Whatever treacle was, she could worry about it later. The mugs were the best she could find, so she put the tea leaves and sugar into them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And where have we put the cream, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She panted, as she held the iron kettle. It was heavier than anything she had ever lifted in life. She wrapped the handle with a rag to keep it from burning her hands. Pouring the boiling water into the mugs, Belle prayed that she wouldn’t spill. Peasant women were expected to be a lot stronger than she ever had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-we’re all out of cream, sweetheart,” Rumple said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny that you don’t know that, mistress,” the dark figure said. What was visible of his mouth held no amusement at all. “And odd that you would have cream at all, impoverished as you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aowh!” Belle exaggerated her fake accent even more. “Sorry, dearie! I fort we ‘ad put some by, for when important people came to call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, everyone knows you can keep cream for months to save it for special occasions.” The sergeant snickered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cheeks blazing, Belle handed the mugs of tea to the three men. As she gave Rumpelstiltskin a mug, his fingers brushed against the back of her hand and he caught her eye. His gaze was warm and hopeful. For a moment, her heart calmed, and her panic dissipated. For a moment, when she looked into his eyes, she was home and everything was all right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the sergeant spat out his tea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time froze. An arc of liquid hung in the air between the sergeant’s lips and the tabletop. Each brown drop showed an image in the firelight. Belle saw her own dismay, her knowledge that she had failed, reflected in the tea. Rumpelstiltskin’s sorrowful eyes lit up with shock, even as his lips grimaced around the rim of his teacup. And by some strange trick of the light, Belle could see the face of the dark figure, but only in the tea drops. Dark eyes gleamed with self-assured malice, something almost like amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had known who she was from the beginning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time started. The sergeant’s tea splattered to the table and he spat the rest out onto the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-is something wrong?” Belle asked lamely. She was caught, but she couldn’t back down.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Salt,” Rumple looked down as he put his cup on the table. “You put salt in the tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t sugar?” Her voice was normal. All the pretending melted away in the face of her honest mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sergeant stood up. “Why would a poor spinner have sugar, </span>
  <em>
    <span>my lady</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Why would you expect fine sugar and rich cream in a miserable shack like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Belle backed away from the two men so she was near the hearth again. Maybe she could grab the kettle. If she swung with all her strength she might be able to hit one of them. But which one?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rumpelstiltskin stood up quickly on his bad leg. “Please, milords! We are just a humble family. My wife doesn’t always know what she’s doing, but that isn’t a crime! Please…” Trembling, he clung to his staff. “Please just leave us be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Do you think we’re stupid?” the sergeant sneered. He lumbered around the table to grab Belle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kettle in both hands, Belle planted her feet in the dirt floor and prepared herself to heave. She managed to lift the iron thing over her head. It was on a clear course to collide with the sergeant’s beefy face. With any luck, the blow would knock him out. They could figure out what to do with the other man after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kettle went up, but it wouldn’t come down. It wasn’t falling. Belle pulled on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. It seemed to be frozen in mid-air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a glow around the kettle. The purple light was unlike anything Belle had ever seen, but she knew what it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man in the dark cloak stood in front of the table. What was visible of his face was calm. He had only one finger extended. It seemed to cost him no effort at all to destroy every hope Belle had ever had of happiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Rumpelstiltskin shouted. In one quick motion, he swiped his staff toward the dark figure. The movement knocked over a teacup. It fell to the ground and chipped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dark magician only had to twitch his hand to push the attack away and leave Rumpelstiltskin a crumpled heap on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Belle shrieked. “Don’t hurt him!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span> The sergeant grabbed her by both wrists and pulled her away from the floating tea kettle. “Why should we spare him, my lady? The man did impede the Duke’s servants from their duty. Do you want to make it worth our while? Do you want to make a deal with me and my friend here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough,” the dark figure intoned. “We have our quarry. Let us be done with this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please!” Rumple reached up from the ground,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologies, ‘dearie.’” The cloaked man looked down on Rumpelstiltskin while the sergeant hoisted Belle over his shoulders. “It is the Dark One’s magic that binds the girl now. And only the Dark One’s magic will ever free her.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The prompt for this round was a gifset of Belle in her sparkly white Camelot ballgown and Rumple the grinning Dark One at Cinderella's wedding.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Her Grace, the Duchess de Trousdale, looked over the crowd of her wedding feast in a dreamy haze. Everything was beautiful. Her husband’s estate was grander than any castle in the realm but the King’s palace. A dozen chandeliers made the marble ballroom gleam like noonday, long after the sun had set. The table before her was set with gold and silver and crystal. All the guests were dressed in their finest, but no one sparkled more brightly than she did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gown was blinding white, with a thousand diamonds sewn into the fabric. The Duchess had distant memories of a wedding at her home chapel, where she had worn a golden gown. But that must have been a fantasy. She had no golden gown. And she had married Gaston at the grand cathedral here in the capitol, leagues away from the manor house she used to call home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d had so many fancies lately--strange, nonsensical thoughts that flew away at the first reminder of reality. She had memories of running away from her wedding, of plunging into a river and being rescued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man who had rescued her, she had seen him as an angel. When she dreamed of him, she woke up with tear stains streaking her face.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She remembered seeking refuge with this man and his son. She remembered being stolen, being brought back to her husband screaming and bound by magic, being forced--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was absurd, of course. She loved her husband! She had been happy to marry him. She was happy now, seated by his side. And later tonight, when the time came for him to make her his own, then she would be happiest of all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And everyone was happy for her. All the guests who spoke to her wished her more happiness. But how could she have </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> when she was already so happy she could weep?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her papa was not happy. He sat, sullen, at an empty table by the dance floor, his glass of wine untouched. Papa’s head was bowed, and he was looking at his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned to Gaston. He was still holding her hand. The sweet man had barely let go of her since Papa had placed her hand in his. Managing a fork at the feast had been difficult, but she didn’t mind. She barely needed to eat, she was so full of happiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My love?” the Duchess asked the Duke. “Can you bear to be parted from me for a moment while I go speak to Papa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll go together.” He stretched his long legs and stood up. “I can’t allow you to wander off, little wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed at that. How marvelous! Her husband was such a wit. And so right too! They should never be separated. She should never do anything without his approval. She was so happy to have him by her side, to do everything he wanted her to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hand in hand, the bride and groom descended from the high table to mingle with their guests. When she got to Papa, she took her hand from Gaston to tilt up her father’s chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> be happy, Papa,” she chided him. “I am!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lord Maurice looked at his daughter. Belle’s eyes were very bright, and her face was flushed--too flushed. The girl looked like she had a fever, or some terrible madness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you, bluebell?” he asked her. “Are you happy? Did you truly want to go through with this marriage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For just a moment, Belle looked as though the fever had broken. Without speaking, she opened her mouth. She looked as though she didn’t understand the question, but she wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Gaston returned to her side. “There’s my blushing bride!” He took her hand in his own and brought her fingers to his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle looked up at him, and her smile was of the purest joy Maurice had ever seen. Everything seemed to melt away from her then--all doubts, all questions, all thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall we dance?” The bride looked up at her groom. He was so handsome, so strong, so wonderful. As long as they were together, she would be the happiest woman in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sweetly obliging, the Duke led her in a romantic waltz. He stepped on her feet, but she laughed every time. He squeezed her hand more tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mind if I hurt you, do you, little wife?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, felt the jewels in her ears swing back and forth. “Not at all, darling. You are my husband, and I am happy to be yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave her a tight grin and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. “You just stay happy then, and I’ll never have a reason to hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled and laughed, but felt something strange in the pit of her stomach. It was almost like fear. How silly that was! She was happy! It was her wedding day! She would spend the rest of her life with this man and she couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like a cake, miss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dance had ended, and a little pageboy with a tray of pastries stood in front of her. She blinked at him. He was dressed in the Duke’s livery, but she didn’t recognize him. Or did she? Somehow, he looked familiar to her. He was a lively-looking child, with tousled brown hair and worried dark eyes. Why was he worried? Why was he sad? He should be happy! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she could accept a cake from this sweet boy, her husband pulled her back by grabbing her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is this ill-mannered whelp?” he bellowed. “Boy, this is the Duchess de Trousdale and you will call her ‘Your Grace’!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh darling!” She smiled so Gaston would smile with her. There was no need for this unhappiness. “He’s just a boy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A boy who needs to learn </span>
  <em>
    <span>respect</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He snarled at the child, who barely came up to the man’s waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes wide, lips trembling, the boy looked at the Duchess. “Belle?” he whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How did he know her name?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened her mouth to speak, but Gaston dismissed the boy. “Begone from here!” he ordered. “And be grateful this is my wedding day, else I would knock out your teeth for your impertinence!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little boy scampered off into the crowd. She had the oddest urge to follow him, to go with him wherever he was going. She wanted to be with this boy and his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His father?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then her husband took her hand again and led her into another dance. And of course they should dance! Nothing made her happier than dancing! And she was with her husband, and she was so happy! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would always be happy with him.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dance after dance she shared with her husband, and she never wanted it to end. No one interrupted them, no one dared ask to cut in and dance with the bride. Everyone knew that they belonged together, and should never be apart. The musicians played waltz after waltz, until even Gaston was ready for something different. He called for a quadrille, a lively dance with much switching of partners. Though it pained her to leave her bridegroom, the Duchess contented herself with the knowledge that every separation would end in a reunion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she was only happy when her husband was holding her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she made her steps around the ballroom, frolicking with all the men who wished her well, who wished her every happiness in the world. She touched their hands only briefly, and did not let any of them hold her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not until she started the next round of dancing with a stranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She noticed the hand first. It was extended out, as a part of the dance. The hand did not grasp for her, but it was offered freely. She could take it, if she wanted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the hand was not a human hand. The outer skin was rough and scaly and brown as a forest floor. The ends of the fingers terminated in sharp, black points, like the claws of some terrible beast. The Duchess looked past the hand to see the whole of this person.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t look like a man. At least, not like any man she had ever seen before. He had the shape of a man--he was wearing a suit of gold cloth with a white cravat at his throat. Perhaps he was a foreigner. The dark olive-green of his skin could almost be mistaken for the coloring of some far-off prince. Perhaps from the river kingdoms.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she had never heard of a person whose skin sparkled like gold, like the iridescent scales of a snake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes were unnatural as well--gold and dark and too large, like some kind of animal. They watched her. They saw that she was staring at him, but he did not want her to look away. The man grinned at her, and his teeth were black and broken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Duchess recovered herself from her moment of shock. She curtsied to her guest and they began their dance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I know you?” she asked politely as they circled each other, not touching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An excellent question.” His tone was as strange as his appearance. His first words to her were a high-pitched chirp, but then his voice lowered. “Do you know me? Dearie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dearie</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That word meant something. She stepped back, breaking the dance. The music faded into silence, and all the other dancers became no more substantial than ghosts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her wedding. Her husband. Her happiness. None of them felt real anymore. Only the man in front of her was clear. The man and, in the corner of her vision, the young boy who had offered her a cake. The boy had known her name, when even she didn’t seem to want it. What did the man know?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” she whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am changed since you last saw me.” He took her in his arms, leading her in a dance though the music had stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or perhaps she had only stopped hearing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember the Dark One?” he asked her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A vision flashed in her mind--an evil man cloaked in darkness, his face hidden except for a malevolent grin. He had taken her away from a place where she had wanted to stay. He had brought her to her husband, he had forced her to--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she whispered. But it wasn’t to answer the man’s question. “No, that’s not real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned in to her. He whispered into her ear, soft and deep. “Do you remember the Dark One’s magic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An iron kettle that hung in the air despite her desperate attempts to bring it down. A twitch of the finger and a man with a staff was brought down to the ground in writhing agony. Magic that bound her, magic that invaded her, magic that crept into her mind and twisted everything. It made her forget, made her remember, made her happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was falling apart. She broke away from this stranger, this monster who was destroying her happiness. She looked around the ballroom. Where was her husband? But all the people looked like nothing but swirls of color--dabs of paint on a canvas and she was the only thing that was real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” she screamed again, a deep, ragged cry. In the middle of the ballroom, in her diamond wedding dress, she sank to the ground and wept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy came up to her and wrapped his arms around her neck. “It’s okay, Belle,” he said softly. “Papa’s going to rescue you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bae,” she whispered through her tears. “Baelfire.” He was real. She didn’t know how she knew his name, but she did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy nodded and hugged her tighter. She clung to him like a life raft. Like she was flowing down a river, and this boy and his father were the only things that could bring her back to dry land.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle blinked. His father…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger knelt beside Baelfire and looked into her eyes. Now that he wasn’t grinning, she could see through the layers of magic. His hair was different, as were his eyes and his hands and his skin, but Belle knew him. The monster who looked like a demon had once been her angel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rumpelstiltskin,” she breathed. She wanted to smile at him. He was her friend, her savior. But everything still felt so wrong, so topsy-turvy in her mind, she could only stare at him blankly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Dark One’s magic binds you,” he explained. “And only the Dark One’s magic can free you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember,” she whispered. “He said that, at your cottage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one who said those words is dead now,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “I killed him. I am the Dark One. And I can free you. For a price.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baelfire sat up, though Belle kept her hands on him. He was such a small boy, but his nearness grounded her when everything felt so uncertain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be scared,” Bae said. “Papa’s going to help you. It’s just that all magic comes at a price. You have to give him </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle looked up at Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, her angel. “What do you want from me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t answer at first, just looked at her in silence. The last time she had seen this poor spinner, he had already looked weighed down by the toils of a lifetime. Now that he had been transformed by magic, his burden seemed to have increased a thousandfold. And still he had come to rescue her. Had he taken on this mantle just so he could save her life a second time? Surely anything she had would be worth giving up for his sake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is the price, Rumple?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held out his hand to her. “Come with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The joining of hands was a sacred gesture. To signal her marriage, Papa had taken her hand and placed it into Gaston’s. And Gaston had refused to let go of her all night. All the happiness she had felt since the moment of her wedding had been because of a spell the Dark One had cast on her. Magic that Gaston had reinforced every time he took her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now Rumpelstiltskin would free her, if she would just place her hand in his own. If she would come with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle had taken his hand before, when he had helped her out of the river. His hand had been warm and soft. Immediately, she had felt like she was home, like she never wanted to let go of him. And it was not the ‘happiness’ that she had felt with Gaston, crystal-bright and fragile. Her contentment with Rumpelstiltskin had been deeper than that, more substantial. The very first time she had put her hand in his, it had felt natural and right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only good would come of her doing it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Belle rose to her feet. Baelfire stood beside her. Rumpelstiltskin was in front of her, his hand still extended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can leave Gaston,” she said. “But in exchange, I must marry you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not must,” he said gently. “I will not save you from one marriage just to force you into another. But if you will have me, I will be yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And me too,” Bae looked up at her, his brown eyes full of hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle took the boy’s hand first, and then placed her other hand in Rumpelstiltskin’s. His hands had changed since she had first met him, but he was still the same man underneath. He had helped her, protected her, and now he had saved her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she answered, looking from Rumple to Bae. “I don’t know where we’re going or what will happen next. But I know I want to be with you.” She squeezed their hands. “With both of you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
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